This chapter highlights different experiences through the different aspects of our solar system. The sun section contains poems about happy, uplifting things, the moon section contains poems about my struggles and the stars has different concepts and mixed emotions.
The sun
Just for me
There is something quite special about my pink notebook.
Every thought I can grasp, every day that passes, every doodle phase, he holds all of it,
He holds my secrets like a friend and my life like a photo.
He comes with me everywhere, he stays in my little brown bag until I decide to revisit.
I am able to capture a moment in time in a way I couldn't do otherwise,
He holds my life in between those pages.
Write what you know
I am a man of faith, I am happiest when I know there is someone watching over me, but I struggle to view god as a perfect, all knowing being.
There is so much pain in the world, so many individuals going unseen, unheard, unloved through the darkest points of their life.
Where was god when my younger self was terrified, terrified for my life, terrified for my future, terrified in a relationship that should have been loving.
Where was God then?
But I won't let those moments take away my faith, maybe they will shape it, but it will not strip it away.
After all, many believe god created us in his own image, and I could see some truth to that.
I find truth in God's human-like nature of loving mistakes.
Home
I spent much of my life a stranger to my world, the body I inhabited and myself as a whole.
I floated through life enjoying what I could, but most often living behind my eyes.
I daydreamt endlessly, i overanalyzed every passing interaction, I picked myself apart limb by limb,
There's nothing wrong with living in your head, but when I did it wasn't a happy place to be.
I was a floating mind, entirely disconnected from my vessel, I didn't recognize my reflection.
I didn't know myself, unsure of what I cherished and valued.
It was all a blur, a noisy senseless blur.
But as the days pass I feel more at home in this world, this body, and this home.
Although moments of difficulty do not fail to arise, the moments of joy are raw and purposeful, they have meaning unlike they ever have before.
My body feels like my own, the sound of my voice when I speak matches the sound of the one in my mind.
Lastly, I know myself, I am not fighting with what I should be, because I am who and what I am.
I am happy to be home.
This is what I want to be
Being sixteen there are things you are meant to do and experiences you are meant to have.
Learn to drive a car, get your first job, embarrass yourself repeatedly, the list goes on.
Something I've particularly enjoyed is looking at what could be, and seeing what parts of those fantasies will come along to the material world.
For now these dreams are simply a rough draft and an aim at what May come to be true as I move through life.
In my future I hope to be a librarian and a writer, I dream of a house in the woods.
This summer job at the library may become a stepping stone into something more.
These poems and stories could become a world of their own.
And maybe one day what fills this bedroom of mine May occupy a house surrounded by trees.
So although this outline is nothing more than a draft, it looks like a beautiful painting so far.
The moon
1:01 AM, there's nothing quite like it
Although I've gotten better about living with the peaks and valleys of bipolar disorder, there is something so strange yet about the high altitudes.
There's no sting quite like mania.
I am always able to tell the storm coming when late nights and early mornings become routine, when sleeping becomes more rare and far between.
I stay up until sunrise writing, making art, rearranging my bedroom, and living in the unreal.
These sleepless nights lead to hallucinations, elevation like no other, and a surreal, almost far from lifelike existence.
I write poems and entries about the world around me, about how it flows, and how the waves seem to take me up and out to the ocean from time to time.
I fill my art journal with many pages, some quite beautiful, although some will be taped together.
I move the furniture from its place, I spend hours reorganizing my home in a home.
In the quiet moments I become overwhelmed with anxiety, I wonder if I am losing my mind for good this time, I wonder if I hear more voices than most, but I turn up the music and move through the night.
After all, what else is left to do but run?
When the nights drag into the early hours of the day, my mind fills in the gaps.
I begin to see figures that aren't quite human and hear the voices of those who aren't speaking.
During these times I feel a deep sense of elation, I am beyond happy, yet I have never been more uneasy.
I smile until my face hurts.
I spend hours on my passions.
I feel bugs crawling on my skin.
I suffer in the moments in between.
I enjoy life in a way I haven't in other states, the perspective is at times refreshing and others suffocating.
I have never been more hopeful for the life that lies ahead,
I believe in my ability to create a life I love in a way I am unable to otherwise.
Yet there is a disconnect.
I am in a different universe than those I love.
I am an alien pretending otherwise.
Mania is often misunderstood.
At large i am not entirely unhappy with the endless passion and time,
But the moments of struggle seem to go unseen.
A rock in the shade
If I was any object from the world around me, I'd be a rock in the shade of a tree.
I sit at the end of the street and watch as you move through life.
I watch him as he rides his first bike, as he kisses a girl for the first time, then kisses a boy with much more excitement. I watch Simon from afar, admiring his growth.
I love how distantly human he is. How he is full of passion, how intertwined he is with those around him even through the mistakes.
I play not a single part in his life, yet I feel like I know him so well.
Even through my admiration I do not experience envy, I am a rock, a silent viewer, no more and no less, I never seemed to mind.
The stars
A house of a mind
I am surrounded by love and feelings of home, I am one of the lucky ones, because not everyone lives in that. I've met individuals ho lived many years of life before seeing that side of what things can be.
Yet at large I have a feel as if my mind is a home that I watch my life from,
I watch the people from my window, they dance in their human ways, they speak to each other so effortlessly, I watch them because I am not them.
I look out my kitchen window, my bedroom window, my living room window, trying to get a closer look as to what I could be, and what I wish I was.
From sunset to sunrise
There's something very special about the late nights that drag into early mornings.
They are filled with a unique happiness and pain.
When the clock strikes past eleven, oftentimes I am the only one awake in my household, the only one awake on my street, maybe even in my neighborhood as the night goes on.
I enjoy this time of quiet in between,
During these hours there is endless freedom to do whatever I please.
I love ights filled with writing and art, I cherish them more than anything.
But without the noise of the day what I've been avoiding comes to the surface.
The Lily pads I had spent the day pushing under come to the edge of the water and beg for my attention.
They hold bottles of the what's and how's, and don't hesitate to pour the colorful liquid on to me.
So these hours aren't always pleasant, but through the moments of quiet and noise, there is nothing quite like watching the sunrise.
YOU ARE READING
Letters from sixteen
PoetryA poetry book I wrote during periods of my life with many different facets. I wrote about happy moments, addiction, and trauma, the book becomes more depressing as it goes on. I choose the title "letters from sixteen" to capture how I wanted to capt...
